Seek and Find
[500 Themes: 185]
Kotetsu should probably stop. That is, he should probably get a hold on his emotions and hormones because he isn't a teenager, but instead a grown man, and yet watching Bunny at the end of a long day always sets his nerves on edge, makes him exhale a breath that is far from stable when the blond walks across the locker room, hair damply clinging to his neck, curls in disarray and that damned undersuit clinging to every line and muscle like it's always meant to be there.
It's always those lines and muscles that snap his self control in half.
He doesn't entirely notice that he's snatching the blond by the arm and tossing him back against the wall. Barnaby doesn't seem to mind beyond a sort of strangled, surprised sound escaping his throat, and for a moment, he wavers, as if contemplating to stay where he is or to slide to his knees already.
Kotetsu regrets stopping him, but only for a moment.
His own mouth is against Barnaby's shoulder, nuzzling, licking, tracing the lines of color down the suit that he imagines glowing and sharply outlining the sculpting of his lover's long, lean figure. He looks up to see a muscle in Barnaby's jaw twitch, feels his back arch and chest heave a bit with the quick inhale of breath, and Kotetsu grins, all qualms about his next idea forgotten.
He keeps going. He doubts Barnaby is feeling the full extent of what his tongue is doing, but is that really the point? It's more the visual of his lips and tongue and teeth tracing every line – lapping at the jut of a hip when he sinks to his knees himself, watching how Barnaby tenses, feels that tension in the other man's hands when they sink into his hair and Kotetsu is prying open that undersuit, nose pressed against bare skin for a moment, inhaling the soapy, musky-clean scent of his lover. His cologne clings to the end of the day, and it's something citrus and altogether not – woods and odd citrus and a spark of the oddest vanilla he's ever smelled.
It's perfect, and it's Barnaby.
"Kotetsu – "
And that's all his lover manages to breathe out before Kotetsu's fingers are rough and sure around his cock, lips parted to drag his tongue in a wet stripe over the very tip. Barnaby groans, belatedly tearing a hand from his hair to clamp it over his own mouth, and Kotetsu is sure he hasn't seen anything sexier than his lover pressed against the wall by his own doing, shuddering and tense with his toes curling into the ground and his fingers digging into his own cheek to shut himself up.
He continues, then – swallowing the first few inches of Barnaby's erection and then drawing back again with a slick, sticky pop. Barnaby lets out a sound not unlike a whine, hardly stifled by his hand, and Kotetsu's hands fall flat to the man's lean hips, shoving him back into the wall harder as he tries to buck with the next, deep bob of his head that lets Barnaby bump against the back of his throat.
Barnaby squirms, and it's entirely too satisfying. Normally, the man is taunting him, teasing him about how he's the one that taught Kotetsu how to suck cock, but now, Barnaby is entirely off-kilter, whimpering and mewling with little tremors that shake his form and make his thighs quiver. Kotetsu can feel him throb against his tongue and he drags his lips up and down with long, thorough movements, tongue a flat, firm lave against the head, tasting him.
The strain and bend in Barnaby's form finally snaps. Those long, lean fingers still wrapped up in his hair tighten and Kotetsu lets Barnaby drag him down, swallows hard when the man comes and spills himself down his throat. He pulls back, he himself panting, and Barnaby just wilts – slipping down the wall into a puddle upon the floor, weak-kneed and trembling and trying to glare at Kotetsu through an entirely too flushed countenance.
"Don't act," he teases the blond, a bit hoarse, lips a little more than bruised, "like you don't enjoy this." And Barnaby merely flushes harder, something unintelligible escaping underneath his breath that might have been assent.
Perfect, and entirely Barnaby, indeed.